


James Bond Has Returned

by Rigel99



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: M/M, POV Alternating, Post-SPECTRE, SPECTRE Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-01 16:21:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11490111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rigel99/pseuds/Rigel99
Summary: He never left Q's bunker.He didn't walk away.He took a step into the unknown.And never looked back.





	1. Chapter 1

The door is open to your workshop.

You do not hear me enter, do not look up from whatever task currently absorbs your attention.

I remain still, concealed in the shadows. You shed your jacket and your tie, both obviously hampering your work. You roll up your shirtsleeves, not taking your frowning expression from the gun mounted on the rack before you.

I can only imagine how it’s offended you.

You undo a couple of buttons at the neck of your shirt before sliding out a component and holding it up to the light.

And that is what undoes me.

I move fast.

I’m on you almost before you realise I’m there. My mouth lands with soft restraint on your throat, only a split second before my hands grapple your waist to drag you against my body.

You drop the pin, grab my shoulders to steady yourself. Your strangled moan tells me my blind risk has paid off.

I’ve progressed to your jaw by the time you’ve finally found some words.

“Bond? I— I thought you were done…”

He opens his eyes. I anchor his gaze to mine.

“Done?” I glance down at his mouth. “I haven’t even gotten started.”

* * *

_Good God, it’s hot. I thought these bloody bunkers were supposed to be cool? Most of them are under or parallel to the Thames for bugger’s sake…!_

I shirk off my jacket and tie, adjust my shirt.

_This weapon will be the end of me._

It’s frustrating beyond measure. Each component is delicately aligned, so one a millimetre out of place throws the whole damn mechanism out of whack…

 _Ah-ha!_ I’ve located the rogue element and pull out the pin, holding it up to the light to scan for imperfections. The light momentarily blinds me.

But I hear something.

The spots of light in front of my eyes clear as quickly as they appeared to reveal, you. Bond. James.

Bearing down upon me with a look I once thought reserved for beautiful women, sharp custom-made suits, interesting Q Branch toys and lovingly kitted-out cars.

To be on the receiving end of firstly THAT look, swiftly followed by the heat of THOSE lips, sends my senses into a spin.

In a second, three things occur.

My heart drops into my stomach; the skin on my hips is seared by your touch; and I am momentarily lost for words.

No sooner had the sentence left his lips than they became preoccupied by mine.

His hands circling and pushing into the small of my back moved me closer still, their strong uncompromising warmth distracting me enough to exhale a breath of which he took full advantage, sliding his tongue with unhesitant confidence into my mouth.

I’m reeling…

… But then remember where I am.

I pull back. But you won’t release me, holding me firm and pressing our hips together.

I clear my throat and straighten my glasses.

“—Tanner,” I say distractedly.

You raise an incredulous eyebrow. “You’re thinking about… Tanner?”

* * *

I smile in return at your amused laugh and shake of head, watch as you straighten your glasses again, nervously, and bite the back of your hand.

“I have a meeting. With Tanner.”

I want to devour you, feel that light flush I’ve brought to your cheeks warm against my bare chest, your blossoming arousal pressed between us with no clothes to stand in the way of sliding skin.

I step back, removing my hands and relocate them to the pockets of my trousers.

“You’d best be getting on then. Wouldn’t do to keep our illustrious Chief of Staff waiting.”

* * *

 When you crossed the bridge and walked towards Swann and away from your MI6 family, I was sure that was the end.

But you’re here. Standing in front of me, looking ready to take on the world.

Or maybe take on me.

I take a levelling breath and roll down my sleeves. I reach for my tie close on the workbench but you beat me to it.

You move forward into my space and loop the article round my neck, glancing my collarbone with your fingers before buttoning up my collar.

I hold your gaze as you tie the knot.

I run my hand across the tie.

“Very precise. Very neat…”

“Unlike some of my handiwork in the field?”

I huff a laugh while retrieving my jacket from behind my chair.

I button it up to hide the obvious… interest… developing.

“My stint in the Navy taught me many useful things Q. A decent knot is just the tip of the iceberg.”

“Well then. How about you take me to dinner later and you can tell me all about your submariner adventures?”

I’m establishing some ground rules. Your expression conveys understanding. I note a flash of gratitude in your eyes.

* * *

“… So I think in the short term, we can manage… Q?”

“Ship to shore? Earth to Quartermaster?”

It’s the snap of Tanner’s fingers that shakes me back to the present, away from my workshop and twenty minutes before when James sodding Bond had his lips on my neck…

“Apologies, Tanner.”

“Where were you?” he asks, shuffling some paperwork back into its file.

I clear my throat. “A rather vexing problem I had to drag myself away from. I should know better than start something complex before a meeting with our Chief of Staff,” I reply.

And isn’t THAT the truth.

* * *

I’m sitting in my flat, sipping from a tumbler of Scotch, contemplating jerking myself off to the memory of my earlier encounter with the Quartermaster when my phone beeps, alerting me of a message:

_Ku Bar, Firth Street, 8pm._

I smile. I never had you down as so forthright but I can’t deny it’s a very attractive look on you. I’m about to reply in the affirmative when a photo follows:

  
_In case you don’t recognise me._

Well hello Queen and Country…

I’m up and headed for the shower before my phone hits the sofa. 


	2. Chapter 2

I’ve never been here before but it’s definitely one of the more upmarket Soho establishments. I’ve opted for smart casual. This is your territory after all. I’m not 007 here. I can put him aside for the night. I’m content to let you guide me in this as you do so unerringly on my missions.

I prowl around the various rooms, seeking you out. The interesting glances exchanged I can appreciate. There are indeed some very beautiful people here. If I’m honest I feel a little out of place. Everyone here is comfortable in their own skin and it shows. I’ve spent my life pretending to be people I am not.

Until I met you in front of a painting and you stripped me bare. My mask had remained intact that day. But I knew deep down you’d fractured it, just enough of a split to get under my agent-thickened skin to breathe life back into the man I thought I’d buried along with Vesper Lynd in her watery grave.

This, you, could be the most important and interesting mission of my life.

I follow my instincts. My best guess is, after spending days in the bunker you will want to be in the open air. I head to the roof garden. On the narrow stairs, a dark-haired woman brushes my chest with her palm but there is no expectation of more.

Appreciation for appreciation’s sake. Nothing more.

I could get used to this.

* * *

I love this place.

I’m anonymous, free of the responsibilities of the world for a few blessed hours. I’m being advanced upon by a rather average looking fellow, but he’s sweet and intelligent and an acceptable distraction to take my mind off wondering whether or not Bond will accept my invitation.

He didn’t reply after all. I can’t however even force myself to be surprised. He ignores me on comms often enough. Why should the real world be any different?

I find myself having a little faith despite that. He was the one after all, who instigated the move. I certainly had no intention of ever acting upon my desire, content with my fantasies and occasional brief touches over weapons and equipment. We’d shared a cab once, on the way back from a black-tie event in which he had been heading up the security detail for myself and M. I’d nodded off, exhausted, to be woken by him after drooling on the shoulder of his suit. I apologised profusely but he merely smiled, like the enigmatic fucker he was.

I smile now at my chattering companion but keep my body language partially closed off. I don’t want to lead him on.

I turn towards the bar we are currently propping up to order another drink.

It is then I see him at the top of the stairs entrance, scanning the room. I wait for his eyes to come to me.

It’s when they meet, I know. He has me. Whether he realises or not that I have him? I’ll find out soon enough.

“Luke.” He stalls mid-sentence at my interruption. “My friend has arrived so you’ll have to excuse me.”

“Oh.” He looks crestfallen. It always surprises me that people find me so interesting and attractive, knowing as I do what a liar and a fraud I am. I decide to give Bond a little show.

I put a finger under his chin and tilt his head up, placing a light, seductive kiss on his lips to let the room know he’s worth some attention. “There are people here far more deserving of your attention than me,” I whisper against his cheek.

That does the trick.

Luke retreats, leaving me to my own devices.

It is not long at all before the space he vacated is filled with your imposing presence.

“You look a little melancholy. Can I buy you a drink? What would you like?”

I don’t miss a beat. “Something with a bloody big ship on the bottle.”

The seduction? Has only just begun.


	3. Chapter 3

Our date, for want of a better word, goes from casual to heated, fairly quickly.

“We could have been doing this much sooner you know.”

The area of the establishment to which we have retired is slightly more private, sofas in booths scattered around the room and table service provided by beautiful young men in white tank tops and women in asset-revealing attire and tailored trousers.

Your head is in my lap. I have finally allowed myself to indulge in your hair, one hand caressing your scalp while the other rests between your shirt and now opened waistcoat, my thumb idly tracing the line of your lowest rib.

“We couldn’t really. You were far too mammoth a project to take on so early in our professional relationship.”

“I’m… a project?”

“Oh come off it, Bond. Look me in the eye right now and tell me you didn’t internally refer to me as a mission? And I’ll retract that comment.”

I frown. I find I’m actually mildly concerned about how obvious I am. What concerns me more is that I cannot seem to get a read on you. Perhaps my fondness for you is clouding my judgement.

Something in my expression gives me away. It seems I am more comfortable in your presence than even I thought possible.

“Only to me,” you sigh casually, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Never a good thing even in a good situation.

* * *

You hack into my mind again.

“Tell me a story, Bond.”

“Something I’ve never told anyone before?”

“No. Lie to me. Treat me like one of your marks. I’d like to see what all the fuss is about.”

There you go again, surprising me.

So I tell you a story that isn’t so entirely removed from the truth. The moors of Scotland, hunting with my father and Kincaid as a young boy, my first kill, sitting under a tree with them both afterwards, feeling the flush of youth seep into the ground and manhood approach far too soon.

“What made you tell me that particular story? It doesn’t sound like an untruth.”

“I’m not finished, Q.” I lean down close to his ear so my breath can ghost over his skin. “The sunlight green of the leaves under the branches we sat was a kind of colour I’d never seen before. It was life, death, impermanent. Your eyes made me recall the moment.”

You look suitably stunned before leaning up to kiss me.

You return your head to my lap and I sit back, resuming my caress. “Fine,” you huff with almost adorable petulance. “I see what all the fuss is about.”

* * *

You take me home. Responsibilities outside MI6 involving cats apparently demand it.

Like everything about you, the sex is incredible. So blind for so long, now my eyes are open to everything. Well. Almost everything. Even an agent has their blindspots.

My own are very unforgiving.

You collapse on top of me, nuzzle into my neck inviting words, words I would never normally take a bedfellow up on.

“Stay. For breakfast.”

My mother used to tell me a hearty breakfast would set a lad up for the day.

She wasn’t wrong.

Breakfast turns into you feeding me pieces of toast while fucking me into a kitchen chair. Your phone pings. “You’re. Being. Sent. To. Kabul.”

I quicken my pace.

“Tonight.”

My sense of urgency mounts.

“I’ll be running the ops from Q Branch.”

At the thought of you bossing me around after this, I’m about to come quicker than a 47 year old man should.

“How old are you anyway?”

Your look of incredulity would be hilarious in any other circumstance.

“You’re asking me that NOW, you senile old fucker?” grinding your hips harder down, while I grab your cock to try and wrestle some control back on the situation.

The chair can’t withstand the downward push of our combined weights. It buckles, my arse hitting the floor with a slap and you landing so hard your prostate gets the surprise of its life.

I scramble up, taking advantage of your sexual euphoria, dragging you with me and laying you across the kitchen counter to finish the job.

Senile old fucker indeed.


	4. Epilogue

It’s easily one of the best sexual experiences of my life. I wake up expecting to pull you into my arms and inhale deeply the intoxicating aroma I nearly drowned in last night. But the side of the bed where you had been sleeping is cool, empty. I raise myself on my elbows to look around the room, and there you are, standing a fully clothed silhouette, every inch my Quartermaster. I sit up smiling and sink back into the pillows.

Evidently, I’m still a little foggy from the euphoria of having my prize last night.

Too late, I catch sight of the gun in the hand resting against your thigh.

I am quite literally too stunned to move.

You raise the gun, train the muzzle on my chest.

“Why?” It’s all I can whisper.

You shrug. “The inevitability of time? Goodbye. 007.”

You pull the trigger and the flare of the bullet is the last thing I see.

The darkness is endless. Until it isn’t.

I feel warm breeze and heat on my skin, which, I’m fairly sure isn’t possible unless there actually is life after death, and given my penchant for resurrection, I can categorically state there is not…

Is that the sound of…waves?

A sliver of light cracks through and with it clear blue skies above me. A beach.

I’m on a veranda. In a beachside villa.

A. Fucking. Beach.

I try to move but the pain in my chest is still raw… Because…?

Q.

Q shot me.

The anger crashes through my brain, overrides the pain and I force myself to sit up, and it’s then the hand lands on my shoulder to stay my motion.

I react on instinct.

Grabbing the wrist, I yank its owner around and into my lap and in the split second I register that it is Q, I find my free hand closing round his throat, the searing red hot sense of betrayal coursing through me unabated by his wide-eyed stare.

“Wait…” My grip tightens. “James…” and there is something in the tone that makes me hesitate.

“You have thirty seconds.”

You use those seconds well and by the time you’re finished I’m kissing you as though I have no intention of ever stopping.

When we finally separate, you’re beaming and the mischievous look in your eye triggers an exciting anticipation that makes me wish my healing can’t come quick enough.

“Ready to get back to work, 007?”

I return the smile before resuming my assault on your mouth.

“With pleasure Q. With pleasure.”

* * *

**Thirty Seconds Earlier…**

“Wait…” His grip tightens. “James…” and there is something in my tone that makes him hesitate.

“You have thirty seconds.”

His grip loosens ever so slightly, but his eyes are burning and they’ve lost none of the angry fire simmering and poised to flare up if he doesn’t like what I am about to say.

“They were never going to give up on you.” You frown. “Spectre,” I clarify, “or more specifically Blofeld. You showed him mercy. It only served to madden him even more, that you - a killer - could demonstrate any sort of compassion. That you were so much more than him. I monitored chatter on the Darknet. You were a target and they would stop at nothing to end you."

Realisation dawns. Well. You are quite clever. In your own way.

“So you decided to beat them to the punch.”

“Yes. I pretended to turn. And with the blessing of Mallory, fed them some strategically agreed information. They were happy to believe me, given my connection to M and my conviction to avenge her death for which I held you responsible.”

“So I’m…. dead?”

“Officially yes. No resurrection for you this time, 007. And I am off the grid.”

Your hand slides to the back of my neck and you resume kissing me with your usual skill. I’m breathless with the power of it.

“And now?” you ask.

I smile. “Now, we are ghosts. And when we strike, Spectre won’t see us coming.”

I reach up and pull your head down towards me once more.

“So. Ready to get back to work, 007?”

You look at me like a man reborn. “With pleasure Q. With pleasure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna leave what Q said in those thirty seconds to your own imagination. I have my own theory but feel free to leave yours in the comments. :)


End file.
